Raider: Ballad of a Resistance Fighter
by Sabersonic
Summary: There have been many tales of valor and heroism, of horror and atrocities during the Great Defensive War. Many were herald as martyrs of humanity in its darkest hour, the bulwark against the night that the Tyrum bring. None were named as strange as one Darc Marcstryder.
1. Sortie 1: Lure

**Raider: Ballad of a Resistance Fighter**

This strange idea just came to me after a thought occurred to me of the lack of any stories of the Greater Terran Union during the dark days of the Invasion, that there were no tales of those who fight the Tyrum on the ground, and the horrors and valor they had faced.

And I thought that I could try a stab at making a certain character at least semi-canon or at the very least, head canon to one of the members of the Templin Institute. Granted, my execution isn't going to be the most imaginative, it just might make it a stepping stone to make a kind of prequel saga of stories set during this dark history of the GTU possible with other, more capable authors *hint, hint*.

And considering that this isn't an IP I own….

**Disclaimer****:** The basic intellectual properties that inspired this story are not own by the author. Stellaris is owned by Johan Andersson and Paradox Interactive, while the setting of Stellaris Invicta is inspired by the let's play webseries of the same name by the Templin Institute YouTube channel. Please support the respective official release of each property however possible.

**Sortie 1: Lure**

The night was dark; the alien smog clogged much of the stratosphere in this section of the world due to the spires of the unknown invaders. The sky was illuminated only by the flashes of light that were extrasolar weaponry mounted upon equally alien war machines as they patrolled and hunted their prey. For what purposes did the aliens have for humanity was largely unknown and the only concrete evidence found so far after only three years into the Invasion were the traumatized accounts of those who survived their flight from occupied territory.

Still, the fight continued as a pair of soldiers, less volunteers and more conscripted due to the casualties the militaries of the world, or what's left of them, had suffered at the hand of alien invaders. Their names were Larry Sinclair and Darc Markstryder, and they had a mission, an objective to fulfill. They weaved through the ruins and debris of the ortillery bombardment that had greatly scared the Earth all those years ago, when humanity was given the frightful answer of their solitude in the universe. That they were not alone and alien powers wished that they were.

Soon enough they caught sight of their target; a roving alien fighting machine on patrol. In the sky were flying machines too alien and too impossible to be mere aircraft, to be of the Earth, as they orbited the fighting machine in escort. The two soldiers crawled through the old debris, the graves of the dead as they moved to intercept their target as it smashed through the old world. Sinclair and Markstryder moved from cover to cover, ever vigilant of the aliens' own senses. From all accounts, the aliens had poor night vision even compared to a human, but they made this up with their bright searchlights that made many a military scientist theories that their sense of sight were poor and must be augmented with the brightest of lights in order to see.

This was an advantage as it showed the aliens were limited in the dark, vulnerable in the dark. Thus military operations were planned, organized, and executed in the dead of night. The night was their only advantage against the technological superiority of the aliens.

As Sinclair and Marcstryder hid behind the hulk of what was once an automobile, the latter spotted the approach of an alien flying machine. If they did not act fast, they would be spotted and gunned down by alien fire, if they were lucky. Most weren't. Thus they jumped through the crack of a fallen wall to hide behind them and await the alien flying machine's lights to pass by and continue their mission.

However, they were not the sole occupants of the impromptu cave as there were other survivors who awaited the passing of the alien war machines. They reached for their weapons when Marcstryder first placed the flat of his fist upon his chest, where his heart is located, followed by a gesture that was known in ages past as "devil horns". It calmed the survivors enough not to draw and use their weapons on them, proved to them that they were not with the aliens and paid them little mind as the two soldiers flew out of the impromptu cave and back onto the battlefield.

They sprinted, dashed, jumped, and dodged throughout the ruins of the battlefield to avoid the notice of the alien fighting machine. Soon enough, they have reached the point in which they may begin their attack against the aliens and readied their shaped plasma charges to attack the relatively vulnerable undersides of the alien fighting machine. The remains of a shopping mall were used as cover as they primed the plasma charges and prepared to toss them into the path of the alien fighting machine.

Marcstryder's toss was perfect as it was in the path of one of the fighting machine's legs and the sudden loss would cause an imbalance and have it crash into the ground, hard. Sinclair's toss was equally perfect as it would have forced the explosion into the thorax of the fighting machine and caused even more damage, however her toss was too late as one of the searchlights had caught her form as she crouched to hide.

The alien weapon fire was as brutal as it was efficient as the rounds that impacted Sinclair's body ripped her apart from the immense steam explosion. Marcstryder could only give Sinclair a moment of silence, a moment of mourning as her disembodied head attempted to scream in horror but no sound came. Instead, her jaw moved to impersonate the yell but slowed due to the absence of life.

Only half of the mission was completed as Marcstryder ran before the fighting machine became an inferno and crashed into the ground. Quickly, a technical drove up and both the driver and Marcstryder switched places as the driver manned the salvaged alien gun and Marcstryder floored the accelerator pedal. They both knew that the destruction of the alien fighting machine would cause the flying machines to reap vengeance on whatever took out their charge, and they were as relentless as a swarm of wasps.

One of them found the technical and began to give chase as the gunner fired back at the enemy; all the while Marcstryder opened a channel. "This is sergeant Marcstryder to all available units, I have a flyer on my tail so get the guns ready, over!"

"Rodger that, sergeant. Give us coordinates for intercept-"

"No time! Lock onto my transponder and send everything you got!" Marcstryder interrupted.

"Watch the road!" The former technical driver yelled. "I can't get a bead if you hit EVERY! SINGLE! BUMP!"

"It's not our job to dust it!" Marcstryder yelled. "We just need to-" A bolt of alien fire close to the technical caused the vehicle to roll onto its side and crash into another ruined vehicle. The former technical driver was pinned by the impact of the vehicle, given the grace of a quick death. Marcstryder, however, was trapped and the flames began to crawl into the cabin of the technical. He could do little more than scream in frustration that he would meet his end in such a manner.

"Don't be cry baby!" A deep, cyrillic voice called out as Marcstryder was pulled out of the toppled technical and into safety. High above, attack VTOLs fired missiles that had downed the alien flying machine. "Safe. Da?"

Marcstryder padded the dust from his salvaged battle dress uniform before he turned back to his savior. "Thanks, Fox. I owe you one."

"Owe me plenty, Marcstryder." Fox chuckled as salvage teams arrived with a flatbed transporter. "And last time, call me 'Vasyli'. We close friends, nyet?"

"Which reminds me, what kind of a Russian name is 'Fox'?"

"Not always." Vasyli shrugged. "Real name too much like woman here."

"Either way, this is the last time I volunteer to be bait. And I KNOW you cheated!" Marcstryder accused Fox.

"Zachem? You bad Poker face." Before the argument continued, the familiar shrill of alien flying machines could be heard from the distance.

"This isn't over." Marcstryder promised as he, Fox, and the recovery team exfiltrated the crash site with their recently acquired prize.

* * *

And there's one glimpse of the Invasion that arguably gave birth to the Greater Terran Union. Not sure how well my interpretation of Darc Marcstryder would be taken, but at least he has a better life expectancy than those who have the name in X-Com.

Also, bonus internet cookies who can guess the references mentioned in this little blurb of mine. They're few, but the most meta savy would probably get them. Probably.

As always, flames and brutally honest reviews are not a requirement for this. I KNOW it's not that well written. This isn't an echo chamber.


	2. Sortie 2: Counter

**Raider: Ballad of a Resistance Fighter**

Here's the second chapter of this odd-little brain fart of mine. It goes deeper into the Invasion and gives a bit of a glimpse of what the refugees must endure against the Tyrum and their occupation of the Earth. Again, there are references "hidden" within and internet cookies for those who get them.

But before we begin, the mandated inclusion to any fanfiction work.

**Disclaimer****:** The basic intellectual properties that inspired this story are not own by the author. Stellaris is owned by Johan Andersson and Paradox Interactive, while the setting of Stellaris Invicta is inspired by the let's play webseries of the same name by the Templin Institute YouTube channel. Please support the respective official release of each property however possible.

**Sortie 2: Counter**

It was another dark night, another boring night, and another overwatch mission to ensure that the underground railroad of refugees was secure against detection by the alien invaders. The overall operation was simple and straightforward; escort parties of refuges from waystation to waystation until they're well within the liberated territories. Every human alive equated to another possible recruit, another small victory against the enemy. Those on overwatch were assigned to not only protect the waystation from alien scouts, but to also act as early warning detection so that the refugees would have time to evacuate to another location. It was ill-advised for the refugees to move counter to the schedule, to move in between patrol shifts of the alien fighting machines, but circumstances forced one's hands to do the ill-advised.

However, Marcstryder's shift was over. He would rotate with another to keep watch as he returned with a small cadre of soldiers to rest in the waystation. They reached deep into the forgotten underground of the ruins, of what used to be a municipal utilities station if the number of pipes and infrastructure were any indication. To those unfamiliar with the location, it was a labyrinth of corridors and access ways, ideal to hide and protect the waystation from direct observation. It helped keep the idea that the area was abandoned and vacant.

Soon enough, the cadre of soldiers reached a door at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Marcstryder knocked on the metal door with the butt of his tactical torch. "Marcstryder. EN-384."

"Right. Let 'em in." One of the sentries spoke as the muzzle of a gun was pulled away from the improvised peephole and the cadre of soldiers was allowed entry. However, there was one final check as Marcstryder and the soldiers walked past a pair of dogs that guarded the entrance of the waystation. As the dogs made no noise other than a selfish whimper, they were cleared.

Though the momentum of the Invasion had slowed since the largest of the alien warships was disabled, they grew more innovative with each passing day when it came to the apparent extermination if not domestication of the human race. Recently they used a new weapon of war many have called "Infiltrators" that were effectively human puppets, one of the more visual atrocities the aliens have committed upon humanity. They appeared and acted like humans, since they were once human, but there were some subtle differences that made them easy to counter. For one, Infiltrators had limited dexterity when it came to hand gestures. It was one reason why High Command implemented the hand signal on a wide scale to prove that those who used the gesture were human. Another was that whatever processes were used to create and operate the Infiltrators easily agitated animals, most noticeably cats and dogs. Canines were ideal to immediately attack Infiltrators while felines were easier to carry. Still, the hand gesture stuck because it was only a matter of time until the aliens would have found a counter for the animals as well, or so many had feared. So far there was no such progress but few wished to affirm such paranoia.

Marcstryder went to the waystation desk and signed his name in the list to record the time of entry. Just past the desk was he met with the fullness of the refugee tragedy. Nearly every nook and cranny was occupied to bursting with poor souls who only owned the rags upon their backs, their eyes either widened in fear or sullen in fatigue, their minds ever thoughtful on how to survive long enough to see the next day. There were a steady stream of refugees that fled the occupied territories and towards the liberated territories, those that were brave enough or desperate enough to escape from their holes in the ground, bunkers and shelters, and live lives better than the mere rats that they had to hunt to survive. Illness and plague was rampant among the refugees whose bodies were too poor to properly fight against without assistance, without the aid and mercy of others. There was little to do than to reminisce of better days, to morn those that were lost, and wait for hope.

Marcstryder playfully readied his weapon towards a child who had made herself a toy gun from salvaged scraps, there were too few children who could even remember the concept of fun ever since the Invasion. Too many were scared to even try.

Soon enough, amidst the misfortunes of the refugees, Marcstryder found himself a spot to sit against and rest. With a sigh, he closed his eyes as fatigue finally caught up to him.

"INFILTRATOR!" Marcstryder awoke to the commotion of yells and dog barks, and almost by instinct he readied his weapon. He knew that the waystation was compromised before gunfire echoed throughout the sanctuary and refugees fled deeper within to escape the wrath of the human puppet. The sentry team and their dogs were wiped out from flashes of alien fire before the infiltrator aimed its weapon towards the refugees that did not react fast enough. All that remained of them were flash steamed chunks of viscera and hamburger.

Soldiers such as Marcstryder attempted to counter the actions of the infiltrator, but the aliens have dulled the infiltrator's sense of pain against such primitive ballistic weaponry. The bullet wounds may slow it, but it did not stop the unwilling agent of the invaders. A nearby explosion from the alien weapon fire knocked Marcstryder to the ground, he laid helpless as the infiltrator slowly approached him, the terrible weapon at the ready.

Only for a grenade shell to rip open the backside of the infiltrator. The enslaved human host was now free of its torment as the husk fell to the ground to reveal to Marcstryder one Vasyli Fox with a grenade launcher. "Safe. Da?"

Marcstryder picked himself up from the ground with a growl. "A grenade launcher in this confined of a space, you mad Ivan?! The blastwave could have killed us both!"

Fox simply shrugged. "Worked. Nyet?"

Marcstryder sighed before he spoke once more. "So what took you so long this time?"

"Refugee escort." Fox answered. "Needed piss."

Marcstryder groaned as his face met with the palm of his hand. "Of course you'd take a bathroom break on an escort mission through enemy territory… What else can Murphy throw at me?"

"Tak? What seychas?"

"Jerry Protocol, of course." Marcstryder answered. "Predictable bastards aren't they?"

This was not the first waystation to be compromised, nor was it the last. However, this became an advantage as High Command learned of a habit the invaders would do; whenever an Infiltrator had uncovered a waystation, it would send an alert to the aliens to send a strike force to the location of the waystation and lay siege. This made possible a predictable point of impact for artillery bombardment from long range as shells, rockets, and warheads fell upon the now surprised invaders and their war machines until all that was left was slag. Of course, the waystation was destroyed and the refugees must be evacuated beforehand, but the underground railroad was designed to be as modular to alter the route to another location without the collapse of the network itself.

It was a useful enough tactic, since it took out a good portion of the invaders war making resources, but how long could it last?

* * *

And we have another glimpse of the world that arguably birth the GTU into the galactic terror that it is today. Not too detailed, but just enough to tickle the imagination of the desperation and destitution of the world at the time, I think. Could be wrong though.

And I hear those of you who question of why the Tyrum would fall for such a tactic again and again as suggested in the story. That they're a hive mind and that they would have been smarter than that. Well I say that the Tyrum aren't the most imaginative of species since a good chunk of their technology was stolen from other species, it's a pretty sure bet that they don't know much about tactics. Heck, the Tyrum Hive mind would have written off such losses as acceptable. Perhaps even not worth the expenditure of reinforcements on a tiny, but stubborn planet as Earth.

Well, that's my argument anyway. Pretty sure either Marc or Larissa would say otherwise.

And of course flames and brutally honest reviews are not a requirement. This isn't tumblr after all and I'm self-aware enough of my literary skills to not be reminded of them every single second of the day.


	3. Sortie 3: Downfall

**Raider: Ballad of a Resistance Fighter**

And here's the final part of this little brainfart blurb of a story. The references and hints should be obvious by now and thus free internet cookies are now a redundant incentive. If you still don't get it, what movies have you watched instead?

Either way, this is the end of the line for this little slice of life that is post-apocalyptic alien invasion horror. It's probably not going to be canon with the Greater Terran Union, but its fun either way.

And speaking of which, before we start, here's the antithesis of fun.

**Disclaimer****:** The basic intellectual properties that inspired this story are not own by the author. Stellaris is owned by Johan Andersson and Paradox Interactive, while the setting of Stellaris Invicta is inspired by the let's play webseries of the same name by the Templin Institute YouTube channel. Please support the respective official release of each property however possible.

**Sortie 3: Downfall**

Metropolitan Manila. The Island of Luzon. Seven long years of brutal insurgency and guerilla warfare against a technologically superior enemy force had lead to this particular siege. This battle wasn't important due to the fact that it stood at a strategic location nor did it house the command elements of the alien invaders. No, this battle was important simply because it was the last stronghold of the alien invaders. Much of the planet was scoured of their extrasolar presence, though in ruins, and the invaders have how fallen back to this otherwise insignificant corner of the globe. In the previous years, the Manilla stronghold was little more than a logistic branch to support the East Asian front. Now it played host to the final war machines of the alien invaders as the combined might of the human race descended upon the remnants.

Within the ruins of Mandaluyong City, the invaders fought in such a desperate battle against Charlie Battalion of the Fifth Division. Alien fire exchanged human ballistic rounds as the night sky was illuminated by the flashes of total war. Alien fighting machines charged forward to sweep aside the advance of the human army amidst the ruins of human civilization. Though on occasion several lances of alien fire found their mark against the maneuvers of the infantry, caused those struck to explode into steaming gore and visera, it did little to slow the leap frog advance of the now embolden wave of humanity from cover to cover in an endless tide of bodies committed to the defeat of their enemy, and the liberation of their planet.

Alien flying machines attempted to provide air cover, but combat VTOLs, anti-air technical and man-portable missile weaponry made such a task difficult. Their reach was limited, though they have, on occasion, knocked out a few such emplacements if and when an opening had presented itself. A brave gunner kept the fire against a flying machine to save exposed comrades at the expense of a right arm that was severed via a violent steam explosion. Another fired a missile that downed a flying machine that crashed into a fighting machine. The enemy was even desperate enough to commit themselves to infantry action as each holstered an alien weapon in each, three clawed manipulator whereas the humans considered them crew served weapons.

A wounded alien, a strange arthropoda creature nearly the size of a horse, struggled to reach for its weapon so that it may kill even more humans, was gunned down in rapid succession from the otherwise inferior ballistics of human assault rifles. She was covered in the bodily fluids, possibly blood, of the creature and was stained a deep blue.

Forward Observers directed offshore artillery and missile strikes against alien emplacements, to make way for the inevitable advance of human armor. The alien resistance was strong, but was effective as a sand castle against the evening tide.

From the Forward Operating Base, what was once known as the Saint Dominic Savio Church, the commanding officer of the battalion directed the battle. He moved up to the balcony and pulled out his viewfinder so that he may have a much clearer picture of the operation before him as counter snipers and machine gun nests guard him from attack. There were casualties, from what he had gained from the reports, but overall the advance north was good. Too good for what was supposed to be a diversion, to keep the pressure away from the beach head to the west, at the mouth of Pasig River where the true offensive against the alien stronghold would arrive. It would be a hard drive to push towards what remained of the University of the East to make as a Forward Operating Base even with the distraction, but the commander knew that it will be possible. And once the forward operating base was secure, victory in this war would be all but inevitable.

After all, as Darc Marcstryder pulled out a photograph, he knew that Vasyli Fox would want to get this operation over with just so that he could meet with his newly born son Abram Fox. Marcstryder may not get the same kind of glory that Fox will ultimately obtain, and might even be forgotten from history, but he was proud none the less that he had contributed to this inevitable, final victory.

Yet, over a century later as the TUS Hawking traversed into the Alpha Centauri system, the memory of Darc Marcstryder lived on in the tales Vasyli Fox told to his son Abram, whom told those tales to his son Mark who told his daughter Natasha. The first High Marshal of the then interstellar nation of the Greater Terran Union remembered well of the French-Canadian comrade that fought alongside her great grandfather during the Great Defensive War. The French-Canadian whom had the strangest of names.

* * *

And that be it for Darc Marcstryder, the largely unknown and unsung soldier of the Tyrum Invasion. Few alive knew of him and his deeds, just one of many who served mankind against the onslaught of an unjust and unprovoked attack by an extrasolar power, but he would never truly be forgotten.

No matter how hard one tried.

Joking aside, I hope you all have found some kind of amusement in the story. Maybe even flesh out the ballad of Darc Marcstryder even more. Either way, it had been kind of a ride since the Let's Play series was first streamed and look what was accomplished. Not by Marcstryder, but who knows?

Once more, flames and brutally honest reviews don't really serve a purpose here. I don't need rabid strangers to tell me how bad this story is constructed and written. I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself, thank you very much.


End file.
